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ASA GROOT, 

•ii OR,,. 

The Judge of Swanzey , 


A DRAMA OF PURITAN DAYS, 

IN FIVE ACTS, 

( By Barba Rossa .) ( All rights secured .) 



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APR. 22 1901 

Copyright entry 
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OTHER NEW PLAYS by BARBA ROSSA. 

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NORCROSS, or THE PHANTOM QUAKER, 

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A Drama in Four Acts. 

A HESSIAN, or THE ANGEL OF TRENTON. 

A Drama of the Revolution, in Four Acts. 

THE CIVIL WAR, or THE TIMES OF AULD LANG SYNE. 

A Drama in Five Acts. 


For full information Address, The International Literary Bureau 
406 Germania ‘Bldg., SMilvoaukee, Wis. Jesse E. Matteson, Sec'y 







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Flash ye foam-white billows, 

And roll to the rocky shore, 

Sing loud and wild of freedom, 

And when the storm is o'er, 

Sing sweet, O! soft plumed birdling, 
In your green-hung-tent above, 
That love hath conquered hatred— 
Sing love is God, and God love. 











ASA GROOT, 

THE JUDGE OF SWANZEY. 

DRAMA IN FIVE ACTS, 

(By Barba Rossa.) 

CHARACTERS. 

Nathaniel Strong.The Judge of Swanzey 

Asa Groot .An old trapper, brother-in-law of the Judge, 

who has been whipped, mangled and expelled 
from the Colony for heresy. 

Thorson .His foster-son, whose father —a Norwegian,— 

was murdered when he was still a boy. 

Elliot .A Puritan minister and a fanatic. 

Sir Whalley .The Regicide—one of the Historical three who 

sat in judgment on King Charles I. and sought 
refuge in the colonies. 

Lovely .His grand-daughter, Cordelias child, by her 

former husband. 

St. Hilaire .The captain of “The Thunderer” and a 

French trader. 

Cordelia.Hilaire’s wife, formerly married to Whalley’s 

son. 

Metacomet .The chief of the Wampanoags, known also as 

King Philip. 

Alahdie .His sister, who loves Thorson and hates Lovely. 

Markeda .The chief of the Pokanokete. 

Petopeka .His mother, who hates the Judge and wants 

his scalp. 

Father Whitstone..A strange old hermit, who rides cowback. 

Captain Mobsby .From England, who has system, but does not 

like to ride cowback. 

Bill Rawlings .An outlaw, father to Markeda. 

» 

Puritans, Crew of “The Thunderer” and Indians. 


Time, 1675. Place, Near and on the coast of Massachusetts. 


















ACT I. 


.An island in Xaragansett bay: in the distance the 
coast of Massachusetts: in rear, overgrown with ivy, a 
gray, massive ruin, resembling in structure the chapels 
built during the first Christian era by the inhabitants 

of northen Europe: trees, rocks and shrubs on both 
sides. 

(Lovely, sings behind scene.) 

PROLOGUE. 

(tiling behind scene , as curtain rises.) 

Thorson (sings Baritone). 

Lovely (sings Soprano). 

Flash ye foam-white billows. 

And roll to the rockv shore. 

Sing loud and wild of freedom 
And when the storm is o’er. 

Sing sweet, oh, soft plumed birdling. 

In your green hung tent above. 

That love hath conquered hatred. 

Sing: love is God, and God love. 

(Both repeat the last two lines.) 

Enter. 

Groot, Thorson, Whatley and Lovely from L, in rear. 

Thorson (pulling a boat and fastening it). Here is our cas¬ 
tle, we have arrived in good time; the sun is just setting; but be¬ 
fore vou enter, let me make it somewhat more comfortable in there. 
It is some time since Groot and I camped here. 

(Exit' into ruin, to entrance of which several stone 
steps lead.) 

Whatley (with amazement, looking at ruin). Strange! 

Groot. Yes, in strange contrast witli the log-cabins usually 
built here. 

Whatley. Very strange indeed. How came it there? 

Groot. That I can tell vou; it was built here on the island, by 
the ancestors of Thorson. 


1 


Whalley (puzzled). Thorson? By the ancestors of our young 
friend ? 

Groot. So I said. 

Lovely. Then he is not your son ? 

Groot. No. 

Lovely. But he calls you father ! 

Groot . Yes, I have adopted him. Thorson is the descendant 
of an old and noble family in Norway. But the boy is not proud; 
he knows that in the wilds of the New World a man is estimated 
only for his own worth and not that of his ancestors. 

Lovely. And one of his ancestors erected this strange build¬ 
ing here on this island ? 

Groot. There is no doubt of it. 

Lovely. Then that must have been many, many years ago ? 

Groot. There you are right. Have you never heard how long 
before Columbus discovered this Continent, a band of daring sea¬ 
men landed on these shores ? 

Whalley. Yes, but I have looked upon such reports as mere 
myths. 

Groot. It is no myth. They were North men and came from 
Iceland by Avay of Greenland. That they were here, is proved by 
these walls, that, you will have to confess, were never erected by 
red men, nor the whites of today. Yet, speak not of this to Thor¬ 
son, it will make him sad, not without cause—for here his father 
was murdered. 

Whalley and Lovely (simultaneously). Murdered? Thorson’s 
father ? 

Groot. Alas! Yes. Murdered for the gold he had brought 
with him from Norway. Thorson was then a mere child. 

Lovely. Poor Thorson. 

Groot. Ah! Well, you may call him poor, poor Thorson! I 
see him still clasping his little arms around the cold, stiff corpse of 
his father, and hear his piteous cries. 

Lovely. Oh, come! you must tell us all. 

Groot. They had passed the night in the ruin yonder. The 
boy had slept while villains murdered his father, and took the cove¬ 
ted treasures with them. Well, ever since, I have been little Thor- 
son’s fast friend. 

Whalley. You are a noble man ; and the murderers, were they 
ever discovered? Red heathens, I suppose. 

Groot. Wrong, man, wrong. White Christians. 

Lovely. But how do you know? 

Groot. Because I am on the murderer’s track. I am on his 
track, and he shall not escape. His blood shall flow, who has shed 
blood. Here, on this knife inscribed his name. 


2 



Lovely. Grandfather! this is terrible. 

Groot. Our maxim is: Eye for eye, tooth for tooth, and “As 
thou dealest, thus slialt thou be dealt with," but, hush! I hear 
Thorson. 

(Enter Thorson, from ruin.) 

Thorson. You will have to wait a little longer. The place 
is damp and cold; but I have built a fire and I think with the aid 
of our bearskin robes, it will make comfortable quarters for the 
night. 

Groot. And as most likely, you will be hungry, I will go and 
see what I can find to eat. 

(Crosses to, and busies himself about the boat, from 
which he takes provisions, ammunition, oars, etc., and 
carries them into ruin.) 

Lovely (to Thorson). How kind you are! 

Whatley. Indeed, next to our Lord and Master in Heaven, we 
are greatly indebted to you, kind friends. 

Thorson. Do not mention it. 

Whalley. But I must. If it had not been for you, we should 
probably now, be at the mercy of our pursuers. 

Thorson. You are safe here 

Whalley. Ah, that I could prove my gratitude! But to con¬ 
vince you of my sincerity, let me tell you who I am- 

Thorson. There, that will do. Yot another word. You are 
our guests. 

Lovely. And are you not curious to know to whom you extend 
your aid and hospitality? 

Thorson (smiling). Oh, no. You see, father and I, being 
hunters and trappers, live, to a great extent, among the natives of 
this country, in consequence of which we have acquired many of 
their peculiarities. Now, it is a trait of the red man never to induce 
a guest—even by the slightest suggestion—to reveal to his host, 
what, perhaps, he may have good reason to conceal. 

(Groot joins them.) 

Whalley. All honor to your native virtues, but I have noth¬ 
ing to conceal, my friends. The word and deed of Richard Whal- 

ley- 

Groot. Hush! If you are one of the fugitive Regicides, dis¬ 
cretion will be the better part of valor. But you must be tired and 
worn; you are not accustomed to the hardships of a forest life. You 
will therefore do well to partake of such food and rest as our hum¬ 
ble hospitality can afford. 

Thorson. Yes, so that we can set sail early in the morning. 


3 




Lovely. 
coast ? 


Oh, yes. And how far is it to Swanzey from the 
(Thorson and Groot exchange looks of surprise.) 


Thorson. To Swanzey? Yon are not going to Swanzey? 

Lovely. Yes, does that surprise you? 

Whalley. I have letters of recommendation for the Judge 
there—Strong, 1 believe, is his name. 

Groot. Nathaniel Strong. 

Whalley. You know him, then? 

Groot. Yes, I know him. 

Whalley. I hope at last to find, for me and my dear grand¬ 
child, here security from the wrath of Charles the Second. 

Groot. Yes, humph! Yes, without a doubt, but come now, 
your bed is waiting. 

Whalley. Thanks ! Lovely ! Come, my child. 


(Exit Groot and Whalley into ruin. Lovely follows 
a few steps, then returns to Th.) 


Thorson. You have forgotten something? 

Lovely. Yes—no—that is—I would like to know where you 
will sleep during the night, if grandfather and I rob you of your 
couch ? 

Thorson. Ha, ha! Never fear. Hunters prefer to sleep in 
the open air, the soft green sward for a bed, the star-studded skies 
for a tent. That is what keeps us hale and hearty. I really believe 
it would be impossible for me to sleep beneath a roof'. 

Lovely. Indeed. Then you have always lived in the woods? 

Thorson. Ever since I was a bov, with the exception of a few 
years, when I studied with Roger Williams, in Providence. 

Lovely. Ah! You are acquainted with the Patriarch of 
Providence ? 

Thorson. Yes. The venerable man took great interest in my 
wellfare. He instructed me in many things, that, as a rule, people 
of my calling are ignorant of. It was his pet idea to make a parson 
of me, but that went against my nature, and so I followed the 
example of Groot, and took to the woods. Groot, you must know, 
is my foster-father, and has cared for me as if I were his own flesh 
and blood. 

Lovely. Do you—do you know the Judge of Swanzey ? 

Thorson. Know the Judge of Swanzey? I should say I did. 

Lovely. It seems you bear him no great love. 

Thorson. True, and for good reasons. But it is a rule with 
us, in the woods, never to speak ill of anybody—even our enemy— 
behind his back. 


4. 



/ 


Lovely. Then the people in the settlements may learn from 
you. But have you never thought of forsaking the hunters’ life? 

Thorson. And turn a farmer? Xo, I prize liberty too high 
for that. No, give me the bold, free life of the hunter. 

Lovely. And could nothing induce you to change your mind ? 

Thorson. Nothing. Unless- 

Lovely. Unless? You are silent? Well, good night, you may 
tell me in the morning. Good night! 

(Exit into ruin.) 

Thorson. Good night! (Pause.) Ah, that I could answer 
her. Yes, with you at my side, I would settle down, even to toil and 
slavery! 

(Enter, Groot from ruin.) 

Groot. Well, Thorson (stops short, looks at Thorson, who is 
staring into vacancy). (Aside.) Whew! 1 see, I see clearly. 
Well, well, nature will out! 

(Builds a fire.) 

Thorson (aside). Ah, could I win her! Be still, heart—I 
am a vain dreamer. (Turns.) Ah, father! Have you told him 
about their coming? 

Groot. Yes, all he needs to know. We will accompany them 
to Swanzev. 

Thorson. But, father, have you thought of the danger? 

Groot. Danger? You and I fear danger? Bah, boy, you're 
far gone. But hush ! the whip-poor-will! Metacomet is nearing: 
(lights the fire) and there, listen! It is the Frenchman, with his 
Canadians ! It is their boat song. 

(Boat-song behind scene, at first faintly, then 
louder.) 

Bright crests are foaming, 

Gayly we’re roaming 

Over the summer sea i 

Bold and free! 

(Enter Metacomet and Markeda, men, followed by 
St. Hilaire. They come forward and shake hands with 
Groot and Thorson.) 

(Enter, Indians and privateers, the former quiet 
and reserved, the latter gayly dancing and humming.) 

Groot (motioning them to be silent). The council-fire is 
lighted. My friends are welcome. 

(They are all seated around fire. Metacomet takes 
a pipe from his bosom, lights it and hands it to Groot, 
who hands it to St. Hilaire. The captain smokes.) 


5 



Metacomet. Let the Sagamore of the Tluinder-ship speak. 

St. Hilaire (with French accent). Bon! \ r ery good tobacco ! 
Parbleu ! What is there much to say ? Enfin, St. Hilaire is a gentil 
homme. He ne vaire forgets a kindness. His friends may depend 
on him. 

(Hands pipe to Groot.) 

Metacomet. My father has heard the voice of the Chief of the 
Thundership. What does my father say ? 

Groot (to Hilaire). I thank you, Frenchman. (To Meta- 
comet.) My son, the Sagamore of Wampanoags, listen! If the 
tomahawk is lifted in this our cause, it must fall on the heads of 
those who resist, only. The useless slaying of man and woman is 
against the nature of the white man. 

St. Hilaire. Tres bien! Certainement! It is against the 
nature of a white man. 

Marheda (rising). Where was the nature of the white man 
when he slew the Pequods? Where was it when he turned over 
Miantonomo, to Uncas, his deathfoe? Where was it when he 
wronged Moanam, the brother of Metacomet, so that he died from 
indignation? Moan&m, who was the son of Osamoquin, the tried 
friend of the white man! The nature of the white man is tickle 
and turns like the weather in spring. 

(Resumes his seat.) 

Indians' gutteral. Ho! 

Groot. True, Sachem, there is little to boast of. But I do 
not wish that in this, our cause, innocent blood be shed. 

Metacomet (rising). My father has grown old. The evil 
spirit has stolen his memory. He has forgotten the wound the men 
of Plymouth gave him. 

( Sitting.) 

Groot. No, Sachem, no! That is not forgotten, and I mean 
to pay back with double interest, when the time comes. But this 
present affair is not mine, it is Thorson’s. 

Metacomet. It is well. Let my brother Light-hair speak. 

(Hands pipe to Thorson.) 

Thorson. Does 1113 - brother remember the words of his father 
in Providence? 

Metacomet. Boger Williams? His voice is dear to the red 
* children of the forest. He lives within my heart. 

Thorson. The sounds of anguish arising from the hearts of 
the helpless are pleasant only in the ear of the Evil spirit. 

Marheda. And is the groan of a father, struck down by the 
side of his sleeping child, pleasant in the ear of the good spirit? 

6 


The eye of the paleface is weak, but the red man sees a dead father 
whose son is afraid to take vengeance. 

Thorson (springing up). Afraid? I? The vengeance of 
Lighthair will strike the heart of the murderer, but it will strike 
him through the hand of the law. He shall be tried and convicted 
by the law! By your life, Markeda, do not speak to me thus a 
second time, or- 

Metacomet. Peace, Lighthair! My brother knows a friend 
lias spoken. The word of a, friend does not wound. The red man 
is true to his friend. He will help Lighthair to his right. Metaco¬ 
met has a heart and can feel with his brother Lighthair. 

Thorson. Forgive, noble friend, if 1 have wronged you. 1 
cannot bear the idea that innocent blood should flow on my account. 

Metacomet. Let my brother rest in peace. His hand shall be 
free from the stain of blood. 

St. Hilaire. Parbleu! Too much talk, en avant! Metacomet 
captures the Judge of Swanzey, and St. Hilaire takes him and you 
to Providence. Parbleu! you will have the right in vour own 
hands. Plymouth will never listen to your complaint, unless, ha, 
ha, you join their church and become a saint. 

Thorson. Do not jest in such a serious affair. We can depend 
on you in this matter? 

St. Hilaire. Sacre! Am I a gentil homme? 

Groot. What does Metacomet sav ? 

, *y 

Metacomet (to Indians). Are the men of Wampanoag and 
Pokahnokete willing to help their brother Lighthair to his rights? 

Indians. Ho! 

Metacomet. The friends of Metacomet have heard it, let their 
sleep be undisturbed. 

(They all rise, shake hands and disperse.) 

(Canadians sing, going off.) 

(Crew of “Thunderer” sings Pianissimo.) 

SONG. 

In silence deep 
All nature rests; 

With myriad crests 
Ocean's waves roll 
Their toilsome tread : 

Sea shells glow 
In its bottomless bed. 

La, la, la., etc. 

(The moon rises and throws its light on the ruin, 
which is thereby illumined, so as to show Whalley, and 
Lovely, in their sleep. St. H. stands and gazes, with 
signs of wonderment, comes forward—then to Thorson.) 


7 



St. Hilaire (aside). Sacre ! By our holy Mother! It’s Sieur 
Richard. (Aloud.) Parbleu, mon ami! What is this; where are 
they going? They are- 

Tliorson. Our friends! 

St. Hilaire. Ah! They are (checks himself, extends hand to 
Tliorson). Bon soir, man ami! 

(Quicldy exit. Canadians song is heard slowly dy¬ 
ing away in the distance. Thorson stands listening and 
gazing at ruin.) 

Groot (stepping up to Thorson). The hour of retribution is 
drawing near. Courage, Thorson ! Here, take this knife. It is the 
only heirloom left you. I drew it from your father's breast. Re- 
member, upon its hilt is engraved the name of the murderer—the 
name of the Judge of Swanzey. 

Curtain. 








ACT II. 


(Interior of ruin; areli in rear, showing moonlit 
landscape. Whalley and Lovely, both asleep, no one else 
on stage. Music—Song of Canadians, as in Act 1.) 

In silence deep 
All nature rests; 

With myriad crests 
Ocean's waves roll 
Their toilsome tread; 

Sea shells glow 

In its bottomless bed. 

La, la, la— 

(Music dying away in the distance—pause.) 

Lovely (dreaming). Oh, what a beautiful bird! Gold and 
green and purple! I will catch it! Ah! now 1 have you! No! it 
has escaped again! Come, birdie, birdie! Oh, I ? ll catch you now! 
Gone again! Ah, there is my mother, sitting under the old oak, 
reading the bible. How the sunlight plays with her golden hair! 
I'm so tired ! Mother will catch it for me. I will call her. (Calls.) 
Mother! Mother! (Wakes.) Oh, dear! Where am I? (Rises.) 

Whalley (awake). What is it, Lovely, child? Yon were 
calling. What has disturbed your sleep? 

Lovely. Dear ! 1 hardly know myself! I was dreaming—of 

home—of the old mansion, green hills, a beautiful bird—and—mv 
mother! 

Whalley (heavily). Alas, your mother! Your poor mis¬ 
guided mother! Let us sleep, my child. I am tired and we have 
a long journey before us in the morning! 

Lovely. Yes, grandfather, let me smooth your pillow for you. 
There ! and now sleep well! (Kisses him.) I'll sing you a lullaby! 

Whalley. God's blessing upon you, my child ! 

(Music—Whalley falls back on his couch.) 

Song—(Lovely sings.V 
The weary world is dreaming, 

Enwrapt in slumbers deep: 

The rose in beauty glowing. 

The joyous warblers sleep. 

Bright stars on high are gleaming, 


9 



The air is cool and still; 

The moon her light is throwing 
On woodland, lake, and rill. 

Departed day was teeming 
With golden floods of light ; 

Thrice welcome, rest, bestowing, 

Thou quiet, peaceful night. 

Lovely (comes forward). He sleeps! Poor grandfather! 
What a hard lot his is! To be hunted down in his old age, as 
though he were a wild beast! Oh, it is terrible! (Looks around.) 
But where—where is he—they—our friends? They have not left 
us ? No, no! Foolish girl, to be so afraid when he—they are near! 
My—mother! My poor, lost mother! Where are you now? Are 
you thinking of the child you left behind, you, to follow him—the 
man of your choice? Grandfather says, that I must forget you, 
that you have proved unworthy. But that I can never believe, and 
my thoughts are ever, ever with you, my dear, good mother! 
(Turns.) Ah! 

(Enter Alahdie, from R. in rear.) 

Alahdie (quickly forward, takes L. bv the hand). Not afraid, 
young paleface squaw. Not afraid. Alahdie friend ! Where Light- 
hair ? 

Lovely (puzzled). Lighthair—Lightliair! Who is that? 

Alahdie. Paleface brother Alahdie. Him light hair. Him 
great warrior, great hunter! Him strong like oak, graceful like 
birchtree, swift like eagle, lithe like panther. Him red man’s friend. 

Lovely (interested). Ah! you mean Thorson, the foster son 
of Groot, the old hunter? 

Alahdie. Ho! Call him Martoh-bear. Pale sister’s name? 

Lovely (laughing). I have a very long name. The} r chris¬ 
tened me: Lovely in the grace of the Lord, Cordelia. Grandfather 
calls me Lovely. 

Alahdie. Ho! Name much big! Ha, ha! Long, like Con¬ 
necticut river ! Him much big for poor red squaw’s memory. Him 
poor memory—no good ! What long name of paleface sister ? 

Lovely. Lovely-in-the-grace-of-the-Lord, Cordelia. 

A lahdie (shakes her head). Ho! No use, much long. Lovely- 
in-’ ha, ha, ha, ha! Too big! (Clasps her arm around L. Both 
laugh.) Lovely—Alahdie call paleface sister Lovely, ho? 

Lovely. Yes, you may call me Lovely, and your name is- 

Alahdie. Alahdie. Lovely like name? 

Lovely. It sounds well. What does it mean in English? 

Alahdie. Clear spring. Alahdie born clear spring. Old 
squaw call him Alahdie. (Pointing to the sleeping Whalley.) Old 
Chief Shorthair father-father? 


10 



Lovely (suspicious, frees herself from A.’s embrace). Yes— 
but- 

Alahdie. Ha, ha! Red people sharp eye. Him see by day, 
him see by night. Him see far over cloud, far down earth. Him 
see Lovely’s father-father take scalp of old great Sagamore across 
big salt water. Him fly ; friends of big Sagamore long arm. 

Lovely . You know who we are? Oh! do not betray us to our 
enemies! 

Alahdie (encircling her waist). No afraid, paleface sister 
Lovely. Friends Lighthair safe! Wampanoag—Pokahnokete good 
friend. Him good. No fear. Come. Lovely help Alahdie find 
Lighthair. Just little way ! 

(Exeunt to left, both, hand in hand. The ruin is no 
longer illumined, the stage dark.) 

(Enter Petopeka and Rawlings.) 

Rawlings. Now then, old woman, if they’re off on a hunting 
expedition, is our time. 

Petopka. Ho! Long time Petopka here. Bad memory! 
Guess him not find place. 

Rawlings. Curse you! Why didn’t you let out the secret 
sooner? But I don’t believe you You’re a lving cur. That’s be- 
cause you turned Praying Indian once among those close-shaved, 
close-fisted, canting saints at Swanzey. 

Petopka (grim). Ho! Petopeka no more pray. Him hate 
men of Swanzev. 

Rawlings. The devil you do. I don’t believe you. Don’t be¬ 
lieve a word of all you told me. 

Petopeka (malicious). Ho! him yellow metal here. Where? 
Petopeka not know. All forgot! 

Raidings . Curse your joking ! 

Petopeka (dark and sinister). Petopeka no joke! 

Rawlings. Come, none of your nonsense, now, old sweetheart. 
Where is this gold you prate of hidden ? Come, show me the place 
and J’ll ffive vou all the firewater you want. 

Petopeka. Firewater wakun! Crooked tongue much curious 
find yellow metal of paleface come long, long ago? Petopeka care 
so much! (Snaps fingers.) 

Raidings. Look here, old sweetheart, you know I’m not to be 
trifled with. But ask what you want in return, you shall have it. 

Petopeka. Ha, ha, ha! Give Petopeka what him want. Ha, 
ha, ha ! 

Rawlings. Curse me if I won’t! What is it? 

Petopeka (in hoarse whisper). Chief of Swanzey scalp! 

Raidings. The devil! The Judge of Swanzey’s- 

n 




Petopeka. Ho ! Him scalp for yellow metal. 

Bawling s. Humph! Damme. But how? 

Petopeka. Crooked tongue do Petopeka says? (Rawlings 
nods assent.) Then come! (They turn towards Whatley, the ruin 
is illumined again at this moment.) Ho! paleface! 

(Both stand and gaze, then cross towards Whalley, 
who is sleeping. Lovely and Alahdie return.) 

Alahdie (quickly forward, stepping in their way; haughty to 
Petopeka). What does the mother of the Pokahnokete chief seek 
in the wigwam of Lighthair? Is she an owl? Lighthair keeps no 
firewater to drown her senses. 

Petopeka. Let the Clear Spring beware, or a cloud may fall 
on its brightness. 

Bawlings. Enough of your talk, red-skins! (To Lovely.) 
Who are you ? 

Lovely. Who are you, that come here to disturb an old man 
in his sleep? (To Alahdie.) Who is this man? Where are our 
friends? Grandfather—have they come—to drag him away? 
Grandfather, grandfather, wake, wake! 

(Has crossed to Whalley’s side and clasped him.) 

Whalley (rising). Ah! It is morning already? But no! 
This is the moon. Why do you disturb me. What does it mean ? 

Rawlings. Ha, ha ! It means that there is a handsome reward 
on the capture of Sir Richard Whalley, the Regicide, dead or alive. 
So take your choice, old man ! 

Alahdie (motioning him back). Back, Crooked Tongue! Him 
friend Metacomet! 

Rawlings. Ha, ha, ha! Out of my way, red jade! 

(Pushes her aside, she flings him back.) 

Lovely. You shall not touch him. Away, strange man, away! 
What has he done you ? Help ! Help ! 

(Enter Groot and Thorson from L.) 

Groot (heavily laying his hand on Rawlings’ shoulder). What 
does all this mean, Bill Rawlings? What brings you here? Here 
in our castle on our island ? 

Rawlings. Your island? Who has given you a right to this 
island, I would like to know? And who entitles you to call this 
old ruin your castle? 

Groot (slapping his rifle). This here. Bill Rawlings. You do 
not dispute the title ? 

Rawlings (with a forced laugh). Oh, no! I—you see, I just 
came over to see whether I could buy any wolfskins. * 

Alahdie. Paleface lies. Him tongue crooked. Talk ’bout old 
man here. Talk take him along—dead or ’live. 


« 


12 


Groot. Look here, Bill, you are one of those who bring a great 
deal of mischief. I know you sell the red men firewater and swindle 
them of their hard-gotten earnings. I know further that if it were 
not for sharks of your kind, there would be a better understanding 
between red and white men. Now listen, and mark well what I say: 
For your dastardly intention of betraying a poor fugitive, you de¬ 
serve to be shot on the spot, which I would certainly do, if it were 
not for reasons of economy. Powder would be wasted upon what is 
destined to hang. Now go—and be quick about it. 

Raidings (aside). Curse me ! But I'll pay you back for that! 
(To Petopeka.) Come along ! Curse you ! You have lied again ! 

(Petopeka and Rawlings exeunt.) 

St. Hilaire (who has followed Groot and Thorson and stood in 
background, now steps forward). Pardon, Messieurs (to Whalley.) 
Cest possible? Monsieur Bichard? 

Whalley. St. Hilaire! (Motions him away.) 

Lovely. Who are you, stranger? Do you not see, my grand¬ 
father does not wish to see you ? 

St. Hilaire. Listen, Monsieur Kichard! 

Whalley. Away! I have no more daughters to lose! Why 
do you haunt me—even here ? Go! Oh, my child, my daughter, 
my poor Cordelia ! 

St. Hilaire. Se is not far. Cordelia, my queen, is here. May 
she come, Monsieur, and beg a fathers foregiveness? 

Whalley. Cordelia here? Where? Oh, my God, where? 
Speak! 

St. Hilaire. And if I bring her, will Monsieur Bichard for¬ 
give ? 

Whalley. No, no! Go, heretic! I will not see her! She has 
brought shame and disgrace upon her when she followed you! My 
curse upon you! 

Lovely. Do not curse him, grandfather, do not curse him! 

St. Hilaire. This lovely girl—is she- 

Whalley. What is it to you ? Would you tear her away, from 
me, too ? 

Lovely. No ,grandfather, nothing can part us. Who is this 
strange man? Is he- 

St. Hilaire. A man, to whom you are very, very dear, belle 
amie! 

/ Groot. Come, St. Hilaire, I have to talk with you. Have no 
fear, my friends, we shall keep good watch over you. 

(Exeunt Groot and St. Hilaire, Thorson and 
Alahdie.) , 

Lovely. Come, grandfather, come! Tell your little Lovely 
all your troubles. (Music.) 


13 




Lovely. 

(They retire slowly to couch, Whalley lies down. 
Lovely sits at his feet and sings, and, singing, falls 
asleep. Thorson appears in arch during the latter.) 

It seems like as if heaven 
His joyful bride did kiss ; 

The blooming earth, who, sleeping, 

Dreams but of him and bliss. 

Wide then her pinions spreading, 

My soul flew through the night; 

O’er peaceful lands went soaring, 

> And, homeward took her flight. 

(Repeats the last tw 7 o stanzas, so that they are 
hardly audible, and falls asleep.) 

Thorson (comes forward, stands gazing at her). Ah, yes, she 
is a sunbeam! But Thorson, what is this? What was it, that fell 
from the sweet girl's eyes into my soul ? Thorson, Thorson, is this 
love? (Kneels, folds hands, gazing at Lovely.) 

Alahdie (who has stood unobserved during the preceding, now 
steps impulsively forward, in hoarse whisper). Lighthair! 

Thorson (springs to his feet, confused). Alahdie! I did not 
know you were still here. What can I do for mv little sister ? 

Alahdie. Alahdie reads him brother’s soul. Him love paleface 
girl Lovely! 

Thorson. Really, Alahdie, I do not see- 

Alahdie. Lighthair not see. Paleface girl stolen him eye. 
Him forget all ’bout little red sister. When him come little boy, so 
high ! Old paleface hunter bring him, say: find him stone wigwam 
on island. Bad men killed him father, little boy sad, him cry. 
Alahdie say: Little boy, not cry ! Come with Alahdie ! Alahdie 
show him bird and squirrel. Show him fish—all so happy! Then 
tell little hoy story old squaw teach Alahdie ! Little boy laugh; no 
more sad. Call Alahdie: sister! Sav: him love Alahdie. Now 
little boy big hunter; him love paleface girl—forget him little sister. 
Alahdie sad, so sad ! 

Thorson. No, no, Alahdie ! I have not forgotten my little 
sister. Never, never can forget how kind you have been ! 

Alahdie (impetuous). Lighthair has forgotten! Think: 
Alahdie no eves ? Paleface girl like snow in the month of deer, soft 
and white! Lighthair love soft, white girl. Alahdie hate him! 
Enah! 

Thorson. Alahdie! 

Alahdie (furious). Alahdie hate him! Burn him eye, tear 
him scalp, trample him heart. Oh! Alahdie’s heart! (Presses her 
hand to her bosom.) 


14 



Thorson. Alahdie, go ! Leave me, yon are very foolish ! 

Alahdie. What paleface girl want here? Steal Lighthair’s 
heart from Alahdie? 

Thorson. Go! 

Alahdie (flinging herself upon his breast). Enah! Alahdie 
bad—bad sister! 

Thorson. Poor, wounded little fawn. (Leads her to a stone, 
they sit, he encircles his arm around her.) Believe me, Alahdie, I 
shall never forget you. 

Alahdie (looks up to him). Ho! Lighthair love Alahdie? 

(Lovely, wakes, looks around, sees T. and A., jumps 
up, gazes wildly, comes a few steps forward.) 

Thorson (not noticing ^L., kisses A/s brow). Believe me, 
Alahdie, I love you dearly. 

Lovely. Ah ! my heart! (Staggers.) 

Thorson (turns head, tears himself away from Alahdie, with 
outstretched arms). Lovely! 

( Curtain.) 



15 







ACT III. 


Road leading to Swanzey. Embankment somewhat 
in rear, to which steps, hewn out of the rock, lead. 
Trees and shrubbery, right and left. Pilgrim woodmen 
singing a psalm, pass in rear over stage. On embank¬ 
ment Strong & Elliot. 

Elliot. Indeed, Judge, a lovely spot. Meadows, fields and 
orchards promise a most bountiful yield. 

Strong. Yes, parson, we have good reason to thank the Lord 
for permitting us to erect here a secure tent for our covenant. Ah, 
well I remember the day on which we erected our first primitive 
log-cabin. Look, there it stood, on the same spot where my stately 
house looms up now. My stately house, but desolate home! I tell 
you, parson, that cabin was humble, yet it seemed filled with the 
.palatial splendors of King Solomon, when my deceased wife gave to 
me the son, who now dwells in light and has left me lonely. 

Elliot. What the Lord giveth, he taketh; the Lord's name be 
praised! Be thankful, Judge, for the many years he was permitted 
to walk among the just. 

Strong. I am, parson, I aim Ah, parson, he Avas a most excel¬ 
lent son. 

Elliot. TruK—a strong pillar of the sainted church. 

Strong. Ah, yes, parson ; and then his eyes—ah, his eyes, that 
reminded me constantly of Rachel, my poor, lost sister Rachel. 

Elliott. I beseech you, Judge, name her not. You know, she 
is wiped from the book of the living. 

Strong. True, parson, true—but not from my heart. 

Elliott. You must forget her, Judge. In her the Lord hath 
chastiseth you and your foolish vanity. 

Strong. True, 1 was vain—vain to call such a sister mine! 

Elliot. Yes, and she left you, to live with the son of Baal— 
broke in among our flock like the raging lion. She went with him, 
who would rather live among the red heathen of the forest, than 
mingle Avith those Avho dAvell in the Lord. 

Strong. True, Parson, it was a great Avrong; still I was too 
severe. 

Elliot. No, for she had broken the commandment; and it is 
Avritten: Thou shalt not dAvell with the Godless, nor sit among the 
scoffers. 


16 


Strong. These are bitter reflections, Parson; come, let us de¬ 
scend, but look- Who comes there? I declare, it's Whitstone, 

mounted on his Bucephalus. 

Whitstone (behind scene). Je, whoa! Git ep, there! Whoa, 
neow—thar, that'll do. (Enters with Capt. Mobsbey.) Wal, Cap’n, 
you’ve had a mighty smart ride, now, haven’t you ? 

Mobsby. Confound it, yes, I should say so. I’m half dead. 

Whitstone. Are ve? Wal, neow, that’s because you ain’t used 
to rule on a ceow—neow, isn’t it, Cap’n ? 

Mobsby. Decidedly not. 

Whitstone. I thought so. 

Mobsby. And I'll be hanged if I ever ride on cow-back again. 

Whitstone. Wal, neow, Cap’n, I’ll tell you; thar’s no use in 
talkin’, for safe and sure riding thar’s nothing beats a ceow, arid, 
Cap’n, yeow have been riding the easiest going ceow yeou ever laid 
yeour eyes on. Neow, honest, Cap’n, ain’t that so? 

Mobsby. I have no desire to dispute it. 

Whitstone. Thar, I knew it. (To Strong and Elliot, who 
have descended in the meantime.) Hello, thar’s the Jedge and the 
Parson. Whoa, thar, Buzzy (extending his hand). Eight glad to 
see yeow, Jedge. Whoa, thar! Only my ceow. (Buzzy has been 
looking, pokes her head in.) 

Strong. Well, Father Whitstone, what good wind has blown 
you down from your wilderness—and whom do you bring us here? 

Whitstone. Wal, Jedge, it ain’t a good wind as has blown me. 
Thar 1 sat in the wilderness, tending to my bee-hives, my pet bear, 
my ceow—but I’m a foregtting myself. This here is Cap’n Mobsby. 
(Mobsby shakes hands with S. and E.) Wal, he’s browsin’ abeout 
the country looking up military matters, consarning which yeou 
know I’m a perfect ass. The fact is I ain't got the grit fur tew play 
soldier. I’m a postle.of peace and I dew vum, I hate the clamor of 
arms, as gives answer tew the wailings of dispair. 

Elliot. Wrong, Father Whitstone. With these our victorious 
arms we have spread and upheld the glory of God! 

Whitstone. Wal, neow, Parson, it ain't my business to dis¬ 
pute yeour words, yet I rather reckon the glory of God ain't in the 
shedding of innocent blood, but in the happiness of all His feller- 
critters. Wal, pr'haps I'm wrong—the Lord knows! Wal, as I 
was going tew say, Cap’n, this here’s the Parson, as yeou may have 
heerd on afore. The settlers abeout says his sarmons are jest old 
brimstone! 

Elliot. Father Whitstone ! I'll- 

Strong. Peace, Parson. Captain Mobsby, will you be my 
guest ? 


17 




Mob shy. Accepted, sir, with grateful thanks. Perhaps I can 
be of service. I am an English officer, and as the red heathen- 

Strong. Very well, Captain, I will recommend you to my 
friend, Miles Standish. In the meantime, Father Whitstone will 
have the goodness to bring you to my house, where you may recover 
from your journey’s fatigue. It is not every man’s good luck to 
ride cow-back. 

Mobsby. I dare say so. But the red heathens—the devil may 
take them—had stolen my horse from me. 

Whitstone. Sure enough, Jedge, the young feller was in a 
perdickerment, I vum. If it hadn’t ben for me and my ceow, 
neow— Wal, as I was going tew say, Jedge, Bussey and I—Bus¬ 
sey’s my ceow and stands fur Bucephalus—was a-tramping deown 
tew the settlement tew give yeow a warning. 

Strong. A warning. Father Whitstone ! What can you mean ? 

Whitstone. Yes, exactly. Wal, say I, neow, if the colonists 
had minded their own business jest a leetle more and the seouls of 
the red men a leetle less, there wouldn’t be as much of powwowing 
and smokin’ of pipes and all that going on among the red heathen, 
I vum. 

Elliot. Father Whitstone, you have long been pointed out to 
me as a luke-warm follower of the only true gospel, but today I 
hear- 

Strong. That you are a zealous friend of the colony. I thank 
you, Father Whitstone, for the good will you have shown in our 
behalf, although I think we have little to fear; we are at peace with 
the surrounding tribes. 

Elliot. Y es, and will exterminate the vermin, if it stings. 

Mobsby. Spoken like a true knight of the holy church. 

Strong. You are rash, young man. Words are like the sword, 
double-edged and hard to wield. But I will meet you, at the house. 
Father Whitstone is waiting. 

Whitstone. Wal, Cap'll, what dew yeou say—will yeou 
straddle her again ? 

Mobsby. No more cow-back for me, Father Whitstone. No, 
confound it! 

Whitstone. Wal, neou, I vum. (Goes into scene right, pulls 
out his cow.) Wal, then, come along, Je, ho! Whoa, thar! 
(Mounts the cow.) Wal, neow then, Cap’n, yeou will have to step 
up—right smart neow, I vum. Je, whoa, get'ep, there! 

(Whitstone and Mobsby exeunt.) 

Elliot (calling after Mobsby). We shall meet you again, Cap¬ 
tain. I think the Colonv will have work for you. 


18 




Strong. I doubt, Parson, if the road you would have me fol¬ 
low is the right one. 

Elliot. Truly, Judge, you doubt altogether too much. Faith, 
blind faith in the gospel, proves the true Christian. 

(Exeunt to L. together.) 

(Groot, Thorson, Lovely, Whalley, Metacomet, Alah- 
die, Markeda and a few Indians enter; from L. on em¬ 
bankment. ) 

Groot. There, you behold the village of Swanzey. (All gaze 
into scene to R.) 

Lovely. How beautiful! A perfect Eden! 

Groot. Yes, Eden, guarded bv the demons of superstition and 
intolerance! Come, let us descend. (All descend, except Metaco¬ 
met, Alahdie, Markeda and Indians.) 

Groot. (extending his hand to W.). We must part now, friend. 
Farewell, and when we again meet—but be that as it may. Follow 
this road; it leads you to the Judge of Swanzey’s door. (To 
Lovely.) Farewell, sweet girl! (Reaches his hand to Lovely, then 

joins the others on embankment.) 

Thorson (extending his hands to Lovely). Farewell! But 
what do I see? Tears? Oh, do not weep, sweet girl—a happier 
time will come for you. 

Lovely. Oh, it is not that! It is—Oh, I cannot tell you ! 

Alahdie (who has descended, aside with a spiteful glance at 
Lovely). Lighthair: Pale-face come. 

Thorson. Who?—ah, yes. Farewell. (Passionately grasps 
Lovely, then Whatley’s hands, then ascends embankment with 
Alahdie.) 

Whalley. Farewell, kind friends, farewell. (They exchange 
signs of adieu.) They are gone. Strange men. Come, Lovely, let 
us meet the Judge of Swanzey. (Lovely clasps her arm around his 
shoulder—exeunt to R.) 

Thorson (on embankment, closely followed by Alahdie). Fare¬ 
well! Farewell! (Descends, throws himself to R., on a stone, 
burying his face in his hands.) 

Alahdie (descends, comes forward). Lighthair—Lighthair! 
Him no hear (impetuous) Lighthair! 

Thorson (rises). Alahdie, what is it? Why do you trouble 

me ? 

Alahdie. Trouble Lighthair? Ho! Alahdie trouble Light¬ 
hair never before. Alahdie see. Lighthair love paleface—squaw. 
(Wildly.) Him not love paleface squaw? 

Thorson (rising). Alahdie, you- 

Alahdie. Ho! What paleface squaw be him? Him no good 
for hunter-wife. Him soft and white. No heart, warm and strong 



like Alahdie. Why love pale-face girl who him not know? When 
Alahdie love him—Alahdie sister great chief! 

Thorson. Alahdie, child, I love you, as I would love a sister— 
dearly. Her I adore, look up to—as I would to a star. 

Alahdie. Alahdie no good sister. Him love Lighthair more 
than sister. Lighthair love Lovely. Lighthair listen. Him never 
call Lovely squaw—never. 

(Enter Groot, hastily on embankment.) 

Groot. As I thought, Thorson! Are you stark mad, boy, to 
loiter about here, where any moment may bring captivity? Have 
you forgotten that we are treading on Puritan ground ? 

Thorson. I come, father, I come! (Ascends, followed by 
Alahdie.) 

(Strong and Elliott enter.) 

Strong (seizing Elliot's arm and pointing up to Groot). 
There! Asa Groot! 

Groot. (looking at them with contempt, to Thorson). Come, 
Thorson. (Turns to leave.) 

Elliot (furious). Stand, sons of Ahab ! 

Groot (slowly facing them). Spare vour useless imprecations, 
priest! (To Strong.) Does your conscience sting you, Nathaniel? 

Elliot. Come down, and give answer ; why do you tread on 
forbidden ground ? 

Strong. Silence, Parson. Come down, Asa. One word— 
where is my sister, Rachel ? 

Groot (descends with Thorson). Rachel? (To Thorson.) 
Come! 

Strong. Speak, Asa. what has become of her? 

Groot (after a pause). She is dead. 

Strong. Dead ! Dead ! Wretch, you have murdered her. 

Groot (coming forward, facing him, furious). Murdered her? 
My Rachel! Her, for whose happiness I would have sacrificed my 
own, tenfold over! And you, Nathaniel Strong, you dare to tell 
me this to my face? You, who have blighted my life and destroyed 
Rachel’s happiness? God of Justice, thy mercy is great! Listen, 
Thorson, listen. This man I once called friend—brother—all. I 
loved him as I love the free air of the green wild-wood. He was 
for me the embodiment of all that is noble and just. I came with 
him to these rocky shores to plant here the tree of liberty. With 
my aid he turned this wilderness into a paradise and rose to wealth 
and influence. Will you know how he repaid me ? I will tell you. 

Elliot. Silence, base heretic! The lip of truth shall be estab¬ 
lished, but a lying tongue is but for a moment. 


20 


- Groot. Deny it, if you can, that Nathaniel Strong, the meek, 
pure-minded Nathaniel, who fled from the Goshem of oppression, 
to this Canaan of deliverance, was one of those who have trampled 
under foot the divine dictates of humanity. Here he stands, let 
him deny it, if he can. 

Strong. Asa Groot, hear me ! 

Groot (throwing back his long, gray hair, and exhibiting a 
mangled ear). He, ha! Look here! This the evidence of the 
Just, Nathaniel’s Christian principles. Maimed—maimed for the 
glory of God! Do you ask why ? Tell him, Judge of Swanzey. 
Because I did not believe in the cold doctrines of his creed, because 
my heart listened to the pleadings of outraged reason. 

Elliot. The words of the wicked lie in wait for blood, but the 
mouth of the upright shall deliver them. 

Groot. Here I am, in the lion’s den. Why do you not seize 
me, again to have me condemned by brain-addled fanatics? Cut 
off my other ear, have me whipped again, like a dog, and cast out 
upon the wilderness- 

Strong. Stop, Asa, stop! I have wronged you—but—I have 
repented- 

Groot. Repented! Ha, ha, ha ! 

Strong. Yes, x4sa. You know you had robbed me—robbed 
me of my life’s richest treasure—my sister Rachel's love. 

Groot. No, vain fool, you have robbed yourself of that in the 
moment you forsook the heavenly spirit of forbearance. Love, irre- 
sistable, creed-scorning love, bade her follow me, the ignominous 
outcast, into exile. Roger Williams, the Patriarch of Providence, 
to whom we fled, united our hands as God had united our hearts. 
She became my wife. A full, blessed year I called her mine—then 
she drooped, drooped like the flower, severed from the mother stem! 
A weeping willow in the churchyard of Providence sheds its tears 
over her grave. Not I, you, Nathaniel, are her murderer! 

Strong (wringing his hands). Asa Groot! 

Groot. Aye, and more. Not content in bringing her to an 
untimely graved you have polluted her memory by a most atrocious 
crime—a crime, the most dastardly, because committed of low 
avarice. 

Strong. This is too much. What do you mean ? 

Thor son. Father, think where you are! 

Groot. Ah, yes, I had forgotten. Come, Thorson, the air 
here breeds contamination. (They turn.) (Puritans appear on 
embankment.) 

Strong (imperious). Stand, Asa Groot! Not another step! 
Declare what you mean by this infamous accusation! 

21 





Elliot. Yes, lie-braying infidel, stand and give answer! Seize 
him, ye men of Swanzey! (Puritans descend.) 

Puritans. Heretics ! To the pillory with them! 

Strong (stepping between them and Groot). Silence, ye men ! 
Asa Groot, I ask you again, of what crime do you accuse me? 

Thorson. I will tell you, Judge of Swanzey- 

Groot (holding him back). Not another word. Not here. 
Thorson! Justice is not found among the Pharisees. 

Elliot. In the name of the Lord, seize the heretics. 

Puritans. In the name of the Lord, seize them. 

Groot. Ha, ha, ha! Thorson, this is truly Puritanic. Do 
your worst, Nathaniel, but hope not to evade the vengeance of a 
just God. 

Strong. Justice shall be dealt out to you, Asa Groot. I swear 
it—I, the Judge of Swanzey. 

Metacomet (appears on embankment, unnoticed by all except 
Groot and Thorson. He waves his tomahawk, motions to them, 
and disappears). 

( Curtain.) 



22 






ACT. TV. 


Interior of the Meeting House. The Elders Room. 
Narrow arched windows, broad folding doors, wide open, 
up to which broad steps lead. Through doors you see 
the hall and open church-door, through which you get 
a glimpse of Swanzey in the distance. Door (folding) 
in hall to L. In Elders room quaint, high-backed, stiff 
benches and chairs, shelvings. To left a rostrum with 
table and chairs. To R, an old-fashioned spinet. The 
front part of stage unobstructed. Two benches right 
and left. 

(Enter Whallev and Lovely. Whalley sits and be¬ 
gins to read in his prayer-book.) 

Lovely. You will not listen, grandfather! You must, for— 
hear me, I love Thorson. 

Whalley (startled). What! Impossible! The daughter of 
Robert Bruce love a heretic ? 

Lovely. A heretic, grandfather? What does love know of 
heretics ? It takes possession of the heart and never asks its creed. 
Ah, grandfather, love's only creed is—Love. 

Whalley. Before love comes duty ; the duty we owe to our 
church. The unworthy idol must be cast out, though it cause us 
the bitterest pangs. Believe me, my child, me who speaks from 
own sad experience. 

Lovely. Grandfather, I am astonished! You who so extolled 
the exemplary character of the young hunter. Truly, you cannot 
in earnest call him unworthy ? 

Whalley. He is an enemy to our church. He has openly 
avowed it—besides, his unjust behavior towards our noble pro¬ 
tector— 

Lovely. Grandfather, do not judge! You know we are 
strangers. He may have just cause—Groot, his foster-father- 

Whalley. I cannot understand such vindictiveness. The 
Judge feels deep remorse for his former injustice. He would gladly 
reach out his hand for reconciliation. But Groot, in his un-Chris¬ 
tian spirit, will not accept of it. Ah, these heretics, we must not 
tolerate them. 

(Enter Strong and Elliott.) 

Lovely. Grandfather! 

23 


/ 



Elliot. Spoken like a true Knight of our saintly church, Sir 
Richard. ’Tis Satan's policy to plead for an indefinite and bound¬ 
less toleration. He, who is willing to tolerate, will, for a need, hang 
God’s Bible at the devil’s girdle. I denounce all toleration. 

Strong. You are wrong, Parson; we must tolerate, in order 
that toleration be shown to us, for, alas, we are but weak mortals! 

Elliot. We are the sword in the hand of our Lord! Behold 
this, our church, like a poor maid, sitting forlorn in the wilderness. 
Look at her, encompassed by all manner of wild beasts, and in the 
midst of many cruel men, ready to assault her every moment, and 
then preach toleration. Therefore I say: Out on these impudent 
heretics, who dare to heap insult on the head of the light of our 
congregation, and defy us, right in our very midst. (The tolling 
of a bell is heard above.) Hark! the Lord’s voice is calling the 
righteous, to sit in judgment upon the scoffers. Let us go to meet 
them, before the house of the Lord. 

(Exeunt Elliott and Whalley; they are seen through 
door, receiving the arriving elders, leading them to left.) 

Lovely. (Strains from an organ are heard; they cease). Oh, 
tell me, worthy Judge, what does the Parson mean? Surely, they 
would not harm the hunters because—vou know it is on our account 
that they are here, on forbidden ground. 

Strong. Groot has been banished from the colony. He will 
have to appear before the synod. 

Lovely. And Thorson—I mean the young hunter- 

Strong. Is free and can go wherever he pleases. 

Lovely. Yes ! And where is he now? 

Strong. With Groot, in the ward. He would not leave his 
foster-father until he, too, were liberated. 

Lovely. Yes, that is like him! Oh, lie is of a noble mind. 

Strong. I see, he has found an ardent advocate. 

Lovely. Oh, sir, I- 

Strong. You are right, my child. All I have heard of the 
young hunter speaks in his favor, and although he is not a member 
of our church, he is of a noble and upright mind. 

Lovely. Oh, that he is, worthy sir ! 

Strong. He is a young man of great promise, and if he could 
be induced to abandon the roving life of a hunter—if he would be¬ 
come one of us—I know, Groot has prejudiced him against us— 
but love is almighty. If you could win him over- 

Lovely. Oh, worthy sir- 

Strong. I will speak to Sir Richard, and—send you the 
young hunter. See, if love conquer pride. (Kisses her forehead, 
exit.) 


24 






Lovely (strains from organ beard). Worthy sir!—he does 
not hear. See, if love conquer pride. Alas! He loves that beauti¬ 
ful heathen. Heathen? Foolish girl! Love is love, whether 
kindled in Christian or Pagan breast. And, ah, how she loves him! 

And he, ah- (Organ strains; they change into the melody of 

the following song) : 

(Father Whitstone has entered.) 

Lovely (sings). 

Pure as a lark’s sweet carol, 

When the glad earth greets the day, 

A psalm of praise rolled upward 

From a child ’mid the blossoms at play. 

What shall I offer heaven 
Of all the deeds I have done? 

No gift can I bring, none worthy— 

Meet for the Holiest one. 

I have only a heart to offer— 

A heart that is fdled with love, 

For all things He has created, 

And for Him who ruleth above. 

Whitstone. Ahem. Wal, neow. Miss Lovely, I vum. Did ye 
hear the English Captain a-playing the organ? He’s right smart 
on it, neow, I vum. Wal, neow, yeou dew sing like an angel, I vum. 

Jjovely. Father Whitstone, how you have scared me! Is the 
Captain playing? When will the Elders assemble? 

Whitstone. They’re a-going tew call the meeting to order 
purty soon. The Jedge says it’s all right, and that he’s going tew 
try his best tew make it all up. But I rather think it will be up¬ 
hill work. 

Lovely. How so, Father Whitstone? 

Whitstone. Wal, you see, Asa Groot’s as headstrung as a 
mule, and then thar’s the Parson—he’s another, I vum. By the 
way, Miss Lovely, have yeou seed her afore ? 

Lovely (thinking he means Alahdie). Ah, yes, I have seen 

her. 

Whitstone. I tell yeou, Miss Lovely, she’s the slickest critter 
I ever laid eyes on. 

Lovely. Ah, yes, she’s beautiful. 

Whitstone. Wal, neow, I vum. I’m right smart in love with 

her. 

Lovely (smiling). You—in love? Oh, Father Whitstone! 

Whitstone. Wal, neow, Miss Lovely, if one has been living- 
nigh twenty year in the wilderness, with nary other critter around 
yeou- 

25 







Lovely. Don't call her a creature. Father Whitstone. 

Whitstone. Eh! Wal, neow, I dew vum. She’s more’n crit¬ 
ter. Critters have instinct—but I really dew believe she’s got a 
seoul! Neow, yeou may not believe it, Miss Lovely, but she’s got 
a seoul. 

Lovely. Yes, Alahdie has a soul. 

Whitstone. Alahdie? Eh? I vum! 

Lovely. Yes, did you mean her? 

Whitstone. Neow, I was a-speaking of my ceow! (Exit, 
meets Thorson in door, extends and shakes hands with him.) 
Hello, Thorson. How dew veou dew, my boy ? Right glad tew see 
veou. 

Thorson (speaks a few words to him, then comes slowly for¬ 
ward; strains from organ.) 

Lovely (aside). There he is—Oh, heavens ! 

Thorson. Lovely ! (She remains quietly seated.) Lovely, I 

have been told that you wished to speak to me. I have come—what 
is it? 

Lovely (hiding her face, sobbing). I—I—can not tell you— 
now. Let me-(Rises to go; organ strains.) 

Thorson (gently holding her back). No, Lovely, remain. 
(They both sit.) There must be truth between us two. Why are 
you so sad, and why can you not tell me, who loves you dearly? 

Lovely. Love me? 

Thorson. Yes, Lovely, let me confess it. Though hopeless, I 
love you! 

Lovely. You are fickle; the same words you spoke to Alahdie. 

Thorson. Alahdie? You saw—and therefore- 

Lovely. Yes, I saw—know all. 

Thorson (rises). No, by the eternal, that you do not! Listen 
to me, Lovely. Here, in the house of God, before the face of the 
Almighty, I swear it; Alahdie is to me no more than a sister. 

Lovely. 1 believe you. Forgive, that I doubted you. 

Thorson. You I love—with a true and manly heart I love 
you, Lovely. The sun rose in my heart when we met, Lovely, but 
now dark clouds hide its light. 

Lovely (joyous, reaching her hand). What are clouds before 
the sun ? They will be scattered, my friend. Oh, believe me, they 
will be scattered! 

Thorson. Alas ! That I could believe you. 

Lovely. You may (opens her Bible) believe, for is it not 
written: “And Ruth said: Entreat me not to leave thee, for 
whither thou goeth, I will go, and where thou livest I will lodge. 
Thv people shall be my people, and thy God my God.” 

26 




Tliorson. Thy people shall be my people, and thy God my 
God. (Draws her to his breast.) 

(Organ strains.) 

Lovely (leaning on his shoulder, looks tenderly into his face, 
then continues to read). Where thou livest, there will I live, and 
where thou diest, there will I be buried. Nought but death part 
thee and me. 

(Organ strains.) 

Tliorson (kisses her). Nought but death part thee and me. 

(Enter, Strong, Elliott, Groot, Whalley, Whitstone 
and Elders, during the last words, standing in door.) 

Strong. Amen! (They descend, come forward.) 

Tliorson (springing up, and looking at Groot, who views him 
with grim contempt). Father! 

Groot. They have told me that I would find a convert here; 
that the son of the murdered Olaf Wikingson had been enticed, by 
a pair of fair eves and a woman's tongue, to forget the great pur¬ 
pose of his life. That he had renounced Truth and Honor and that 
he would befriend the Judge of Swanzey. 

Tliorson. A lie! A most foul and dastardly lie! Never! 
Not to save me from perdition. 

Lovely. Thorson! 

Tliorson. Away! The spell is broken; the dream is past. 

(Lovely throws herself on Wlialley's neck.) 

Groot. You have heard it, Nathaniel? I knew that Thorson 
would rather die than turn a hypocrite—and so would I. 

Thorson. You are right, Father. He, who has breathed the 
free air in the green temple of God, can not live in the close atmos¬ 
phere of bigotry. (Steps up to Lovely.) Hear me, Lovely! If it 
is true, that you will live where I live, then follow me to the hos¬ 
pitable colony of Providence, the home of the castaway. There, 
notwithstanding the thunders of orthodox puritanism, the forests 
resound with the shouts of liberty. 

Elliot. Silence, young heretic! And let your betters speak. 

Thorson. Betters? 1 dare to compare my life with that of 
any minister among you! That it has been as comely, as pure as 
Ids. Whom, or whose ass have I stolen? Or when or where have I 
lived upon other men’s labor? Honest I have wrought, for honest 
things, which is more than most of you can say ! Then, surely, you 
do not mean betters ? 

(Elders give signs of dissatisfaction.) 

Elliot. 1 mean that I have heard more than enough of abusive* 
cant! Therefore, I say again, ye men : Let the vessel be kept pure, 
as is the wine! Out on these brazen-faced heretics! 

(Elders murmur, threateningly.) 

27 ’ 


I 


Strong. (The organ is heard occasionally during the follow¬ 
ing.) Silence, Parson. Patience, worthy elders. Chide me not 
for the forbearance I show one whom I—whom we—have sadlv 
wronged. Asa Groot, God is my witness that the hand I offered 
you held forth my good will and an honest heart. Asa, we two 
have been boys together. We were friends once—brothers. I am 
an old and lonely man, Asa. Forget the past, return to the loving 
arms of our church- 

Groot. Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha! Spare your hypocritical protesta¬ 
tions, Judge of Swanzey. The bear is in your trap; take his hide 
or let him slip—but be done with him. 

Elliot. Tremble, insolent braggard, } t ou are in our power! 

Groot. So I am. Abuse it, as vou have done before. 

Elliot. Your offence was criminal in the eyes of the church. 

Thorson. Ah, yes! He has shown up your noble principles. 
Your just laws. He has shown that every one of your executions 
was a murder, every whipping a battery, every fine an extortion, 
every disfranchisement an outrage, and all breaches of the charter 
extended to you by England. 

(Elders stand aghast, Lovely stretches her hands 
appealingly towards Thorson.) 

Elliot (mounting the rostrum; furious). Smite them, smite 
the blasphemous slanderers! Hip and thigh, smite them. For I 
will dash them, one against the other, spake the Lord, for they are 
Mine enemies. 

(Elders surround the hunters threateningly.) 

Elders. Smite them! Smite them! In the name of the 
Lord, smite. 

Ctroot and Thorson stand calm and erect.) 

Strong. In the name of the Lord, I command you, listen 
to me. 

Silence. Organ strains.) 

Elliot. Listen not to him. His heart has grown faint, in the 
service of our church. He suffered these heretics, these sons of 
Baal, to heap insult on us, the tried servants of our Lord. Tolera¬ 
tion f Do we tolerate the vermin? Yo. Then let us extinguish it 
by fire and sword, until there be rest and peace in the colony. 

Groot. Ha, ha! Nathaniel, is this the justice that was to be 
dealt out bv vou? 

Elders. Seize them! Seize the heretics. (They lay hands 
.on them.) 

Lovely (flies to Thorson and clings to his neck). Thorson ! 

(Organ strains. Jubilant.) 

Whalley. Lovely, foolish girl, away, away from the heretic. 

28 



Lovely. No, grandfather! Nought but death parts him and 
me now. 

(Organ strains. As before.) 

Elliot (frantic). Tear her away. Tear the lamb from the 
clutches of the wolf. 

(A shrill whistle behind scene. Tumult.) 

(Enter Mobsby with drawn sword.) 

Mobsby. Arm, arm, ye men of Swanzey, the red heathen is 
upon you! 

Tumult behind scene, redfire; Indians appear in 
windows and door. Enter Metaeomet, St. Hilaire, Mar- 
keda, and Alahdie. Puritans are seized; Elliott dragged 
from the chancel.) 

Alahdie. Lightliair! (With a wild bound up to him, tears 
Lovely away from him.) Away, pale-face girl. Lightheart mine! 

( Curtain.) 




29 






ACT Y. 

An Indian camp. Several wigwams and camp-fire 
in rear. Over fire, suspended a kettle. Around it Peto- 
peka and several squaws. In front, to right, a wig¬ 
wam; to left, a tree. Leaning against tree, with folded 
arms, Metacomet; Markeda, reclining, near him on the 
floor. 

Squaws (chant, monotonously). Heyo! Ho, ho, ho, ho, ho! 
Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha! Heyo ! 

Petopeka (chants). 

Wait, O wait, 

Friend, wait; 

The fruit is ripe and red; 

Wait, O wait, 

It falls. 

Hevo! 

V 

(Squaws take up the chant, as before, then cease.) 

Markeda. And will Metacomet deliver the prisoners? 

Metacomet. Metacomet is the friend of Lighthair and One- 
Ear. He does not betray his friends. 

Markeda. They are pale-faces. All pale-faces are dogs. 

Metacomet. It is not, the pale-face makes the dog. It is the 
pale heart. The hearts of the friends of Metacomet are red. 

Markeda. Markeda hates all pale-faces. 

Metacomet. Because he is a fool. (Markeda springs to his 
feet, assumes threatening attitude. Metacomet cows him with his 
eye.) My brother, the Sagamore of Pokanokete, may listen. When 
the villages of the men of Plymouth are swept from the hunting 
grounds of his forefathers, the sister of Metacomet will grace his 
wigwam. Metacomet has said it. The word of Metacomet is law 
with Alahdie. 

Markeda. Alahdie loves Lighthair. 

Metacomet. Ho! Lighthair not Alahdie. Why does Mar¬ 
keda fret ? 

Markeda. Markeda is a chief. The blood of warriors runs 
in his veins. He tramples under foot the heart of his enemies. 
When will Metacomet raise the tomahawk? 

Petopeka (chants). 


30 


Heyo! Wait, friend, wait, 

The fruit is ripe and red; 

Wait, O wait, it falls. 

Heyo! 

Metacomet. My brother has heard it. Let him wait. 

Markeda. Ho ! Lighthair! 

Metacomet. And One-Ear. Let my brother check his tongue. 

(Enter Groot and Thorson.) 

Metacomet (extending his hand). Let the heart of my 
brother rejoice. The'spirit of his father will find rest. 

Groot. But the spirit of his son feels uneasy. 

Metacomet. And why is it so? 

%/ 

Thorson. The wigwams of the men of Swanzey lie in ashes. 
Why? 

Markeda. The Chief of Pokanokete will answer. The pale¬ 
faces are dogs. They have driven the red man from the soil of 
their forefathers. They shall drive no further. Metacomet’s voice 
has united the battle-chiefs. They will drive back the hungry white 
wolves. They have undug the tomahawk, and whet their scalp- 
knife. They will hur^ the heavy battle-ax, bend the wild war-tree, 
and send the red lightning from the rod of iron. Ho! They will 
.strike terror into the hearts of their enemies. 

(Glares menacingly at Thorson.) 

Thorson (in alarm). Does the Chief take me for an enemy? 

Metacomet. The Chief is a boy. He cannot check his tongue. 
The friends of Metacomet need not fear. They are dear to him as 
the apple of his eye. Their own scalps and the scalps of their 
friends are sacred. He falls by the hand of Metacomet who harms 
a hair of their scalp. 

Groot. And why does the Sagamore declare war? 

Metacomet. Mv father can ask ? Let him listen. Metacomet 
had a dream. He beheld Ossamoquin, the dead Sagamore. He 
glided b}^ him in his spirit canoe. The night-bird hovered over 
him, but the chiefs eve flashed fire. These words Metacomefs 
father spoke: “Woe, woe is my race ! Its glory has departed. Cold 
the proud heart that would die, not surrender. Dead is Moanam. 
Woe to his race ! The fire in their wigwams burn low. Their broad 
grounds crumble under the tread of the white man. They will 
perish. Their pride in the dust. Even Metacomet—the serf of the 
white man!” Metacomet awoke. The words of his father burned 
in his heart like fire. The spirit of his dead father calls for 
revenge. 


31 


Groot. The Sagamore is a good son. But, the men of Plym¬ 
outh and Messaquet are many. Let him think of the fate of the 
Peqnod Chief Sassacus. 

Metacomet. The fate of Metacomet is fixed. He will con¬ 
quer or die. (Goes to rear, followed by Markeda.) 

Petopka (chants). 

Heyo! 

The night-hawk flies, 

The night-hawk cries; 

See, on the grass, 

The dew so red. 

Hevo! 

Groot. Silence, old witch. 

Petopeka (in mockery). Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha! 

Thorson. Terrible! Father, I tremble, when I think of the 
fate that awaits the colonies. 

Groot. They reap what they have sown. 

Thorson. I wish we had not drawn Metacomet into our con¬ 
fidence. 

Groot. Bah ! We owe him thanks for our timely rescue. Be¬ 
sides, the Judge of Swanzey is in our power. 

Thorson. True. Still I wish we had* pursued a different 
course. 

Groot. A fig for your sentimentality. The hour for retribu¬ 
tion has come. St, Hilaire must be here soon. What hinders you 
to settle down in Providence, to marry your little lady-love and to 
be happy ? 

Thorson. She despises me. Condemns the course we have 
taken. Will not listen to me. 

Groot. Well, well. Abide vour time. We have more serious 

' _ *j 

things to think of now. (The boom of a cannon is heard.) That’s 
St. Hilaire. Let’s down to the bay and welcome him. (Exeunt.) 

(Enter Alahdie.) 

Petopeka. Ha, ha, ha, ha ! Off Kettle ! Meat cooked enough, 
pale-faces. Off! 

Squaws take off kettle.) 

(Squaws retire. Petopeka comes forward.) Hi, hi! Big 
Chief Swanzey, much little now ! Heyo ! 

Wait, friend, wait, 

The fruit is ripe and red; 

Wait, O wait— 

(Enter Markeda.) Ho ! Markeda! 

(Enter Alahdie, hides behind tree.) 

32 


! 


Markeda. Be still, old squaw. 

Petopeka. Hi, hi! Old squaw! Markeda, son of Petopeka. 
Call Petopeka old squaw? Enah ! 

Markeda. Markeda is the son ft a chief. Petopeka is a squaw. 
All squaws are dogs. 

Petopeka. Ha, ha! Son of a chief. (Crouches up to him, 
takes him by the hand.) Enah ! Come ! 

Markeda (disengages his hand rudely, haughty). The touch 
of a squaw pollutes the hand of a warrior. 

Petopeka. Enah! Petopeka not touch son of Chief Anna- 
von. Markeda son of Petopeka. 

Markeda (disdainfully). Ho! She drowns herself in fire¬ 
water. 

Petopeka. Enah! Markeda know why? Come, what see? 
(Points into scene, while standing in front of tree behind which 
Alahdie is hidden.) 

Markeda. Ho ! Swanzey—chief—prisoner. 

Petopeka. Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha! (Whispers a few words into 
his ear.) 

Markeda (he starts as if stung by a snake). A lie ! 

Petopeka. Truth! 

(Markeda lifts his tomahawk as if to strike her, 
she falls on her knees, looks up to him, he drops toma¬ 
hawk. Stern and commanding.) 

Markeda. Markeda son of Chief. Go! (Petopeka looks at 
him with concealed triumph, exit.) 

Alahdie steps forward.) 

Ho! Alahdie? 

Alahdie. Ho! The sister of the Chief of Wampanoag. 

Markeda. Why is the Chief’s sister not helping the squaws 
in her brother’s wigwam? Why is she walking alone. Was she 
thinking of Lighthair? 

Alahdie (haughty). There are women enough in the wigwam. 
If she choses to walk alone, what is it to Markeda? 

Markeda. Lighthair laughs at the charms of a red squaw. 
Lighthair loves a pale-faced girl. 

Alahdie (aside). He loves a pale-face. Laughs at the charms 
of a red squaw. 

Markeda. Markeda is the son of a chief. Alahdie shall be 
the light of his wigwam. She will laugh at Lighthair. 

Alahdie. Never! Alahdie will rather die! All squaws are 
dogs. Markeda has said it. Alahdie is no dog. (Exit.) 

33 


Markeda. Ho! Has the Chief’s sister listened. Then she 
knows. Let the Chief of Swanzey beware. There is room on the 
belt of Markeda. (Exit.) 

(Enter Whitstone and Mobsby; then Whalley, Elli¬ 
ott and Lovely.) 

Whitstone. Wal, Cap’n, it was an uncommon affair, I vum. 

Mobsby. To be taken so entirely by surprise. Not a shot 
fired. Not a man killed. It is scandalous! Ha, if I had had the 
command! But I'll show these grunting infidels, when I get out 
of this. 

Whitstone. I vum. 

Mobsby. Yes, sir. There’s system in me, sir. There’s system. 

Whitstone. I dew vum. But yeou can’t ride cow-back, neow, 
can yeou, Cap’n ? 

Mobsby. Confound it; don't remind me of that. By the way, 
what has become of your cow, Father Whitstone? 

Whitstone. She’s dead, Cap’n, dead! Said, they was hungry. 
(Moved to tears.) Cap'n, that ’ere ceow was the slickest critter as 
ever wore saddle or gave milk, and she had a Seoul, Cap’n—a Seoul. 

Mobsby. For shame. Father Whitstone! To cry about a cow, 
a dumb beast, and attribute reason to her. 

Whitstone. She had a seoul, Cap’n, a seoul, I vum. 

Elliot (has come forward to R. and knelt in prayer). 

(The ha, ha, ha, ho, ho, of an Indian chant is heard 
faintly from behind scenes.) 

Elliot. How long, oh. Lord? Wilt thou be angry forever? 
Help us, God of our salvation, for the glory of thy name! Let thy 
tender mercies speedily prevent us, for we are brought low-—very 
low. 

Whitstone. Wal, neow, that’s so, I vum. 

Elliot (with furious side glance). Pour out thy wrath upon 
the heathen. They, who have not known thee! They who have 
laid waste thy dwelling place! So we, thy people and sheep of thy 
pasture, will give thee thanks and show forth thy praise to all gen¬ 
erations. 

(Metacomet has entered, and looked down upon 
Elliott with a scornful smile.) 

Metacomet. Let the loud-voiced priest of Swanzey be still. 
Metacomet cares no more for his God than for thus feather! (Blows 
a feather at him.) (To Whalley.) Mv father from across the 
great salt sea need not fear. He and his white fawn are safe. The 
eye of Metacomet watches; my father and his friends may sleep in 
peace. 

(Goes slowly to rear.) 


34 


Whitstone. Wal, neow, I vum. Thar's been a rousing big 
pile of money offered to this heathen if he’d catch and deliver the 
regicide. 

Mobsby. Then why our capture ? It’s all a mystery. 

Whitstone. I vum. 

(Canadians’ song heard in the distance.) 

Little birds, high in air, 

Know nought of grief and care ; 

Pearls from their breast outfling, 

Merrily, merrily, merrily sing. 

Gleaming flow’r by the brook, 

Peeping from shady nook; 

Dreams there in quiet rest, 

Peacefully, peacefully, peacefully blessed. 

Then why should man alone 
Be the unhappy one? 

Pearls from your breast outfling— 

Merrily, merrily, merrily sing. 

(Enter Canadians, carrying a gay colored canoe on 
their shoulders. In this canoe is seated St. Hilaire’s 
wife, Cordelia. St. Hilaire, Canadians and Indians 
closing in. The procession marches around stage, then 
disperses in rear.) 

Lovely. Grandfather, look! The French trader—and who is 
the beautiful woman? 

Whatley. Great heavens ! It is- 

Cordelia (who has come forward, starts, throws herself at 
Whalley’s feet). Father! 

Whatley. Cordelia! (Recovers, turns from her.) Go! I 
will not see you ! I have numbered you with the dead. 

Cordelia. Father! 

Whatley. Yes, I know. The heretic (pointing to St. Hilaire, 
who has stepped forward) has bewitched you. So that you could 
even forget him, whose grave was yet new, the father of your child. 
Aye, even leave that child behind you. 

Cordelia. Where, where is my child, father? 

Whatley (drawing Lovely towards him, as if to protect her). 
Do not touch her! Do you think I would lose her, too ? Come, 
Lovely. 

Lovely. Grandfather, oh, grandfather ! Is this- 

Cordelia (with open arms). Yes, I feel it. I know it. You 
are my lost, my new-found child! Oh, Lovely, sweet girl, will you 
not come to me, your mother ? 

Lovely (sinking on her bosom). Mother! (Takes her grand¬ 
father’s hand.) Grandfather! Forgive, for my sake, forgive. 

35 




Whalley. Yes, if she leaves the heretic. 

Cordelia (rises, extends her hand to St. Hilaire). Leave him? 
The man I love? I cannot leave him, father! Oh, believe me, he 
is noble and good. 

Whalley. He is a heretic. Choose between him and your 
child. 

Cordelia stands in pain, then flies to her husband s 
embrace; music.) 

Cordelia. Here is my place, father. 

Whalley. Come, Lovely. 

Lovely. No, grandfather. You may go; but I—oh, grand¬ 
father, you will forgive me?—I remain with my mother! (Em¬ 
braces Cordelia. Group.) 

(St. Hilaire gives his men a sign; Cordelia and 
Lovely are both lifted into canoe, and borne away in 
triumph.) 

(Canadians sing.) 

The birds are calling, 

Come along! Come along! 

Your voice to mingle 
With joyful song. 

With light heart to wander, 

The woodland among— 

To drink in the beauty 
Of nature—Come along! 

Come along'! Come along! 

Come along! 

St. Hilaire (extending his hand to Whalley). Sieur Richard, 
here is my hand. (Whalley turns his back on him.) No? Bon! 
(Turns and follows behind the rest, humming:) 

Le bon vin ni endort 
L’amour me re’veille. 

Elliot. Come, Sir Whalley. You have proved a true knight 
of our holy church. Come, Captain Mobsby. 

(Exeunt Elliott, Whalley and Mobsby.) 

Whitstone. Pecooliar! I vum! (Exit.) 

(Enter Thorson, then Alahdie.) 

(Turns and follows behind the rest, humming.) 

Thorson. Not a word—not a look for me. What have I done, 
Lovely, that you should despise me? 

Alahdie. Alahdie tell Lighthair. Lovely no heart. Heart 
like stone. Not feel. Heart pale, like ice, cold! Not like Alahdie. 


36 


Heart like fire—red—burning. Why love pale-face? Be unhappy? 
Love Alahdie. Be happy. 

Thorson. * Go! Do not trouble me. Must I tell you again? 
1 cannot love you, and I shall learn to hate you, if you trouble me 
any further. 

Alahdie. Ho! Hate Alahdie? Enah! Alahdie trouble 
Lighthair no more. 

Exit, with a vindicative glare in her eyes.) 

(Enter Lovely, looks around; intends to retire 
again.) 

Thorson (taking her hand). Lovely! Will you not speak 
to me? 

Lovely. Let me— I was looking for my grandfather. 

Thorson. You despise me? 

Lovely. Yes, you are governed by fierce passions. You have 
plotted the ruin of the noble Judge of Swanzey—a man who has 
never harmed you. 

Thorson. Never harmed me? (Steps to L, and calls into 
scene.) Bring the Judge of Swanzey. (Strong is brought in, 
hands tied on his back.) Nathaniel Strong, kneel and confess ! 

Strong. Confess? Mistaken youth, whatever the cause of 
your incomprehensible hatred may be. God is my witness that I 
have never wronged you. 

Thorson (draws knife from its scabbard). Brazen-faced dis¬ 
sembler, can you read? (Holds the blade before Strong’s eyes.) 
There is a blood-stained inscription on this blade. The blood is my 
father’s—his murderer you ! 

Strong. By the blood of our Savior, I- 

Thorson (furious, with uplifted dagger). Silence, or I will 
send your treacherous— ( Enter Groot, Whalley and Elliot, then 

Whitstone and Mobsby, then Hilaire and Cordelia, Canadians and 
Indians) soul to hell! 

Lovely (seizing his arm). Thorson! 

Thorson (staggers back, drops knife, and kneels at Lovely's 
feet). 

Groot (picks up knife). Nathaniel Strong, do you know this 
knife ? 

Strong. I do—it is mine. But I do not know- 

Groot (takes a peculiar coin from his pocket and shows it to 
him). This coin? 

Strong. Yes, I found it on my rambles, and gave it to Father 
Whitstone. 


37 




Groot. Nathaniel, you lie. For here is the coin you gave 
Father Whitstone. This—its counterpart—I found near the dead 
body of Thorson’s father. This knife, with your name inscribed 
on it, lodged in his breast. 

Strong (with uplifted eyes). Give me strength, oh, Lord! 

(Petopeka enters, then Markeda and Indians.) 

Groot (pointing to Petopeka). Do you know this woman? 

Strong. Petopeka! 

Petopeka. Ho! much know. Moon shine bright. Old man 
little boy fast sleep. Tell Swanzey Chief where strike. Him strike, 
take money. Petopeka see all. 

(Enter Rawlings, who speaks to Markeda during 
the last.) 

(Markeda and Indians threateningly forward.) 

Markeda. Lighthair has heard it. The Chief of Swanzey is 
in his power. The red men are here to see him take his revenge. 

Groot. The Chief of Pokanokete is mistaken. The Chief of 
f' Swanzey is a white man and will be tried by a jury of white men. 

Markeda. My brother, the Crooked Tongue, has brought 
news. The men of Swanzey have killed three of the men of Poka¬ 
nokete. Their blood calls for revenge. 

Indians. Ho! Revenge! (They press menacingly forward.) 

Tliorson (steps before Strong, to protect him). Back, Mar¬ 
keda! By the eternal, the Judge shall be tried—not butchered. 
This way, St. Hilaire, Groot! 

(Whites to R., Indians to L., in threatening atti¬ 
tudes. ) 

Rawlings (who stands with the Indians). I told you I would 
be even with you! (To Indians.) The pale-face Lighthair is a 
coward ! He is afraid to take vengeance in his own hand. 

Tliorson (springs forward). Here the proof! 

(Rawlings evades him, he stumbles, falls on his 
knee. Markeda seizes him, and lifts his tomahawk to 
strike.) 

Alahdie (springs forward, shields Tliorson with her body, looks 
up to Markeda). Let the Chief of Pokanokete strike if he dare ! 

(Enter Metacomet from R., with several of his men.) 

Metacornet (sternly). Are the men of Pokanokete boys? 
(They shrink before his gaze.) Away! (They shrink away.) 

Markeda (sullen). Markeda is a chief—the blood of chiefs is 
in his veins. 

Metacomet (with flaming eyes). He is a boy ! Away ! 

(Exit Markeda.) 


38 


Groot (notices Rawlings, who tries to sneak, unobserved, 
away). Seiz^ Ms man ! 

(He i§ seized.) 

Petopekc (tauntingly). Ha, ha! Crooked Tongue find yel¬ 
low metal now—Petopeka revenge. 

Rawlings . Curse you ! You have betrayed me. 

(Breaks from the men and stabs Petopeka; is se¬ 
cured again.) 

Metacomet (sternly to Petopeka, who has fallen to the 
ground). What does Petopeka know of yellow metal? Speak ! 

Petopeka (gasping). Ho! Crooked Tongue dog. Make fool 
of Petopeka—fire-water! Swanzey Chief not kill Father Light- 
hair. All lie! 

Groot and Thorson. Yot the Judge of Swanzev? Who then? 

o *J 

Speak! 

Petopeka. Crooked Tongue! (General consternation.) Him 
father Markeda. No son chief. Petopeka young once. Crooked 
Tongue come from Swanzey. Take him long white people. Make 
him pray. Be so kind. Steal him heart. Petopeka weak. Shame ! 
Chief Swanzey mad. Have Petopeka whip. Petopeka swear re¬ 
venge. Him revenge, ha, ha ! 

Groot and Thorson . Go on ! Proceed. 

Petopeka. Enah! Stone-wigwam on island. Petopeka give 
Crooked Tongue long knife Swanzey chief. Petopeka lose yellow 
metal, where Swanzey chief find him. All fault Crooked Tongue— 
fire-water! Bad, bad ! 

(Staggers, is removed by Indians.) 

St. Hilaire. Parbleu ! Off with him ! (Rawlings is dragged 
off. The boom of a canon is heard.) 

All on board! March on! March on! 

(Exeunt Metacomet, Alahdie; 

(Exeunt Canadians.) 

Groot. We must part. Farewell, Metacomet! (Shakes 
hands with Metacomet. ) May we meet again in happiness. 

Metacomet (extends hand to Thorson). My brother Light- 
hair may rejoice. The heart of Metacomet is sad. (To Alahdie.) 
Let my sister take leave of Lighthair. She will see him no more. 

Alahdie (leads Lovely up to Thorson). Enah! Lovely, make 
Lighthair happy—Alahdie bad sister. Great Spirit make her good. 
Alahdie see now. Lighthair no he happy in wigwam. Feel like 
beaver in trap. Make Alahdie no more happy. Lovely make Light¬ 
hair happy? Think good of red squaw? Alahdie go with red peo- 


39 


pie. Maybe die soon—better so. Farewell, Lovely and Lighthair— 
see Alahdie never more. 

(Exeunt Metacomet, Alahdie; Whalley and Cordelia 
and St. Hilaire join them.) 

(Lovely and Thorson embrace.) 

(Whalley and St. Hilaire shake hands.) 

Whitsione. Wal, Ivum! (Goes to rear.) % 

Groot (has stepped up to Strong, whose hands have been un¬ 
fettered). Nathaniel, brother, can you forgive? 

Strong. Asa, speak! Rachel, did she curse me? 

Groot. No, Nathaniel, no! Her last words were a blessing— 
a blessing for you, the Judge of Swanzey. 

(Final chorus.) 

W ave, oh trees, in your freedom! 

The storm is hushed and strife o'er; 

Flash, oh foam white billow, 

Rolling up on the rocky shore! 

Sing, oh brown-plumed birdling! 

In your green-hung test above; 

For Love lias conquereth hatred— 

Sing Love is God, and God Love! 

( Curtain.) 


THE END. 



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